


Solicited

by curtailed



Category: The Order of the Stick
Genre: Amnesia, Crack Treated Seriously, Multi, i would recommend reading this with half a brain turned off, includin prequels, let yourself go for the ride, lots of insane theory bs, spoilers to all canon material
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtailed/pseuds/curtailed
Summary: Someone who definitely isn't Roy and someone who definitely isn't Redcloak end up in a place they don't remember arriving, from a life they don't remember.
Relationships: Belkar Bitterleaf/Vaarsuvius, Celia/Roy Greenhilt, Elan/Haley Starshine, Roy Greenhilt & Redcloak, Roy Greenhilt/Durkon Thundershield, Roy Greenhilt/Redcloak
Comments: 18
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Want to preserve the image of OOTS as the best damn webcomic existent on the web? Don't read further. Starving for OOTS content and wishing to plunge into the depths of crack hell? Welcome aboard.
> 
> Also, there is only a barest grasp on D&D rules in this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote out Durkon's accent. Sorry not sorry.

"You're not supposed to do that."

There was no gradual ease into nightfall -- one moment the sky was a sickening pastel-blue, the clouds swirling around like ingredients in a soup, and then the next moment the town had plunged into absolute darkness. A few torchlights flickered here and there on the streets, but otherwise all architecture was steeped in terrible, drowning shadows.

He wasn't sure what to say.

"What do you mean?"

"Roy," the voice said again. "Lad. Look down. Look at me."

_Roy._

He frowned at the name. By simple logic it belonged to him, since the voice addressed him as such, but he knew it wasn't. Maybe it was more convenient for the other speaker. He wasn't sure when he had pulled out his greatsword, hands tight around the green hilt -- 

_Greenhilt?_

"You wouldn't kill me, wouldn't you?"

"I should," his mouth said automatically. Shadows whispered and rustled along the walls. A chill bit through his armour -- _why am I wearing armour?_ \-- all the way down to his bones, and he gritted his teeth against the cold. His hands were shaking on his sword.

"You wouldn't do that." The voice almost sounded hurt. Who was he searching for? He rounded the streets and found nothing. He couldn't see anything.

"You're not him," he said, and he wasn't sure why hatred thrummed in his voice. _Why do I want him to die?_ "You're nothing but a damn puppet, and I'll make sure you stay a corpse this time."

"You'd risk his life, then?"

"You're _not him._ "

"Good point," the voice conceded, and it felt like it was drawing closer. The voice was concrete, audible, but only one pair of footsteps moved across the cobblestones. The night was starless. "But what if I am? What if there's a part of him still in me, and right now he's pleading for you not to -- "

"Stop lying."

" _Roy,"_ the voice imitated, and it sounded _just like him,_ the cold hollowness replaced by the gruff, if genuine warmth he remembered from his friend, and he thought his heart would twist into two. "Roy, you look like you need a patchin' up. Roy, you look like you've been hurt. Roy, Roy, _Roy --_ " the voice lapsed back into its crueler tones -- "he thinks about you a lot, you know. He thought about you while he died."

"Shut. Up."

"He'd thought you'd save him at the last second. Just burst into the chamber all heroically -- _don't worry, Durkon, we'll get you through this!_ \-- and maybe you'd carry him away from danger like you always do. He trusts you _so much._ It's sickening."

"Shut _up!_ "

"But of course," and the voice seemed to glow with satisfaction, "he died on your watch. What a letdown."

He swung out madly.

Emerald flames erupted from the blade -- for a moment they scorched the air green, the silhouettes and outlines of buildings thrown into ghastly light, and mere metres from him was -- was --

" _Durkon_ ..."

But it wasn't him, it wasn't him at all, not when his best friend in the entire world stared back at him with red, _red_ eyes. There was no triumphant smirk, no disapproving frown -- the dwarf looked serene, almost, head slightly cocked to its side. It stared at him without blinking.

"A letdown," the thing repeated, never moving a muscle. His sword swung through it, green flames trailing after his blade, but it touched nothing. "A disappointment, don't you think?"

"Shut the _FUCK UP!_ "

"If you were listening for him earlier," the thing continued quietly, "then you could have saved him."

He swung at it again, hitting nothing but empty air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future chapters will be longer.


	2. Downturn

As usual, he woke alone.

The room wasn't much. He supposed it was an inn, although he rarely saw the other residents, and so far no one had tried to evict him from the property. Sometimes he wandered around town -- for what purpose, he couldn't really pinpoint -- and sometimes he helped out the inn's staff. Yesterday had been a day of dragging wagons through mud. It was still raining, in fact, a grey splatter that misted over the window. The storm clouds blotted out any sign of the dawn.

He washed and dressed himself and strapped his sword onto his back. It was better than going out defenseless. 

The hallways were still dim. The common room had a few late-night stragglers, most of them still disoriented from drink, but the innkeeper glanced up at him as he entered the room. He walked over to her table.

"Bad dreams?" she asked, pouring herself a glass of water. 

"What?"

"You don't look like you've been sleeping well."

He couldn't refute that. His dreams ranged from the mundane -- polishing the blade of his sword, climbing up trees -- to the utterly insane -- fighting in a gladiator ring, jumping onto dragons. And the people. There were always the same set of people in his dreams, all fuzzy...someones lingering around, talking, laughing. Crying. 

"It's the dead dwarf one I told you about," he said instead, not sure why his chest tightened. "They tend to revolve around him. I don't know why."

The innkeeper shrugged. "There's nothing wrong about that. For me, I was walking through the glade again."

"The one that ends with -- "

"Me dying all of a sudden, yes. Not the most pleasant thing to wake up to." She sipped from her glass. "Anyways, since you're up so early -- "

A peal of thunder cracked outside.

"I was thinking you could help me get a few supplies from town."

"It's _pouring_ outside."

"Which is why I asked you." The innkeeper gestured around the room. "I have to move around all these people that passed out here, anyway. I don't want them vomiting on the rug."

He hesitated. "Why don't you ask your partner to help? I know he can dish out some of the hangover remedies -- "

"I don't know where he is right now. I'll find him." She pulled a piece of paper from her robes pocket. "Nothing much today, just some food and basic maintenance. Does that sound alright to you?"

"Yeah, no problem." He took the paper. She tossed a small parcel of food at him before he left. He tucked it into his pocket along with the paper, intending on saving it for later.

Outside the rain seemed to fall in gallons. Streams of it trickled down the inn's walls, massing into enormous puddles in the dirt, pounding violently against the windowpanes. Lightning streaked across the sky, bright enough to light up the world for a few seconds. Wind thrashed around the trees, making the upper branches creak and sway, and soon he was drenched all the way down to his boots. Oddly enough, he didn't mind the storm. 

_They're all Thor's work, lad._

He frowned at the memory of the dream. Compared to yesterday night's it had been less crazy -- just him and someone sitting in the shelter of a cave, listening to a tempest rage wildly about them -- but the clarity of the memory was unnerving. He shook it out of his thoughts. 

The town was around half a mile's walk away. The storm had lessened by the time he reached the perimeter, diminishing into a grey drizzle. The main cobbleroad street was vacant, but a few residents loitered on the porches under their awnings, still soft-eyed from sleep. The market stalls were open, thankfully, with water trickling down the waterproof tarps. He went over to the usual stall. A blue-haired woman glanced up behind stacked layers of fresh produce and fish.

"Oh! Hey." She leaned forward in her seat. "Back for your weekly pickup, uh..."

He felt like he had probably told her his name before. "Roy," he decided to say, remembering what the dream's vampire had called him. The name was jarring. "Yeah, it's me."

"Well, it's one gold piece."

Roy handed her the coin. She ducked under the table and pulled out a rather spacious box, before beginning to carefully choose produce to clean and wrap. "How's it going then, Roy? Are you still pulling duty at the inn?"

He shrugged. "I don't really have anywhere else to bunk."

"I told you the local temple's looking for bodyguard positions for their clerics. They'd lend you a room."

"The inn works fine for me."

"Your call, I guess." The stall owner placed the last of the produce into the box before sealing it up with tape. "Is there anything else you needed?"

"That's all. Thanks." A name threatened to burst from the tip of his tongue, but it dissolved away. Roy gave the stall owner a small wave before walking away with the box.

The sun had began to leak through the clouds, and shafts of light glanced across the rooftops. In daylight the town could even be called picturesque. It was a loose collection of stumpy cottages, stalls, stores, with more and more residents trickling onto the streets as the rainwater dried. A blue-haired man in white armour nodded at Roy as he passed by. Further down the road, a few gnomes glanced up from what looked like a toy made of gears. A hobgoblin sat on the steps of a gouda store, acknowledging Roy with a brief smile as he chewed on his food. Orcs and halflings and drows drifted into a day pub. The sun melted and shimmered on the wet roofs. The air grew steadily hotter, a damp, cloying moisture creeping over his skin, like he was looking at everything underwater. He thought about his dream.

_Died on your watch._

His fingers tightened on the box. He didn't know where he was headed to. 

_I should be going back to the inn._

The town was silent. It was filled with the noise and clamour of its people, yet in his head only his footsteps rang out sounds. The sky bubbled and lightened above him like boiling soup. It was a strange mix of a world, his brain filled with memories that weren't his --

_Roy?_

_Roy, don't --_

His steps landed on solid stone.

_What the hell am I doing?_

"Sir -- "

It was a small temple, barely larger than any of the other stores and flats around it, constructed from a dull grey stone. He was standing on its steps. A few people glanced at him nervously, some of them decked in clerical robes.

He had never been to the temple before, but logically he should have seen it, at least. The town wasn't huge. 

_No, that's not right. You just don't come here too often. It's easy to miss._

"...Sir?"

A priest cautiously waved her hand in front of him. 

_I need answers._

"I -- " 

"He doesn't look too good, does he?"

"Maybe he needs a Heal or something -- "

"No," Roy rasped, "I'm fine. I'm fine. I just need -- " Something dark and turbulent surged in his stomach like vomit, and he was ten again, with glass and wood shattered all over the floor.

He had only told it to one person before. 

"I need to find someone," he said quietly. 

The clerics glanced at each other. "We could assist you in scrying, if you're willing to wait an hour -- "

Roy stood shakily. "No, I need to find him as -- as soon as possible. I don't know if he's even alive."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir, but we don't have anyone on our staff that can..." the cleric trailed off, twisting her hands in concern. "Well. I mean. There's one capable, but they keep to themself."

"Just -- take me to them, okay? I can pay."

"Price isn't the problem. It's just -- " the cleric shifted from one foot to another. "They're...They're _insane,_ okay? Completely off the hook. They're...less than willing to talk to _anyone._ Last time someone tried it we had to Raise him back from the dead."

_He thought you would save him._

"I'll risk it," Roy said, setting the box gently down on the steps. With luck, the whole ordeal would be over in minutes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup.


	3. Encounters

"You look like you got Flame Struck to death."

"Empowered one." Roy set the box down before the innkeeper. "That one didn't kill me, actually."

"Oh?"

"The second one did."

The innkeeper winced. "Geez, what happened? I don't think fights usually broke out in this town."

"Don't ask me." The common room was as empty and inviting as ever. Outside the sky had finally lightened up, cirrus clouds floating dreamily in the distance. Roy didn't hesitate in sinking into the armchair in front of the heart, propping his sword against a chair leg. Someone must have been in it earlier because the seat was still warm. Being Raised from the dead had its perks, he supposed; he felt more fresh now, if slightly hollow, and definitely more appreciative of life. The dreams from last night had faded into meaningless flitters by daylight. 

"It wasn't a fight," he added in the ensuing silence. "I didn't even have time to defend myself."

"You...sound oddly okay with this."

_I've been killed before._ The thought popped out of nowhere, accompanied by the strange, dizzying sensation of falling, watching the world tumble around him in a blur of panic. He clenched his teeth in annoyance. "It's not a big loss. One of the staff managed to Raise me."

"You're not going to press it further?"

"If she could kill me that easily, it's not worth pressing." The conversation had been short and to the point. He knocked on the door, the cleric opened it, she refused his request, he repeated it again, and he was soon charred meat. Very systematic. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was a pair of blonde braids, half-way tucked under a helmet, and the door slamming shut loudly. The message had been rather clear.

"Huh. You're oddly genial about it." The innkeeper started to peel the wrap off of the box with a rather large knife. "Why did you need a cleric, anyways? I _told_ you last time our storage room had potions if you needed -- "

The front door swung open.

Instinctively Roy curled his hand around his sword's hilt, the reflex as familiar as breathing, but it was only a thin hobgoblin. The innkeeper's partner.

His eyes widened when he saw Roy.

"Aren't you the person that got killed by Firehelm today?"

With a slight jolt of shock, Roy recognized him to be the same hobgoblin he had seen sitting in front of the gouda store. The innkeeper frowned at both of them.

"I...didn't know that was her name."

The hobgoblin shrugged. Roy noticed he also wore clerical armour, with a blue cloak hanging from his neck. "Don't feel too terrible about it. It's happened to stronger people before."

"I'll keep that for comfort, thanks."

Roy watched the two of them retreat into the kitchens. Nothing between the either of them suggested they were alike, but somehow, there was a strangely easy affability in their conversations with each other that didn't extend to him. As far as he knew, they had always been around when he arrived at the inn --

_When the hell did I arrive at the inn?_

\-- even if the hobgoblin rarely showed up physically.

A few embers glowed in the hearth, a breath away from roaring into full blaze. He'd ask the innkeeper if he could stoke it later.

For now a low restlessness thrummed in his limbs, but he couldn't explicitly identify why. He wasn't sure why he had been so desperate to ask the cleric -- Firehelm -- for help.

_You needed to find someone, didn't you?_

"It's someone that doesn't exist," he said out loud to himself, and immediately felt stupid for saying it. Of course the dwarf didn't exist. It was all nightmares and bad dreams that stubbornly refused to disappear. He relaxed back in his seat, watching the single torchlight in the room flicker, its flame swaying back and forth. Something about the utter stillness of the room made chills crawl up his spine, but he couldn't muster up the energy to move. He felt sleepy, almost. Liminal. It was the same silence of the nightmare

_crrk_

but this time no shadows lurked about the room. In the faint distance he could hear the two talking, the sound of wood clanging against metal, but it seemed to fade into a background buzz. The sky was bright outside. He heard of terror stories from the villagers, but nothing could harm him in daylight. Roy made himself breathe slowly. 

_crrrk_

One second inhale, two seconds exhale. He did it again. Repeated it. It calmed him down from --

_creak_

Roy sprang up from his chair, sword in hand.

Nothing in the room had changed.

_Stop being so fucking paranoid,_ he reminded himself bluntly, feeling ten kinds of idiotic. There were wards surrounding the inn. If anything malevolent tried to trespass, the alarm system would be set off in seconds. Still, something urged him towards the door slowly --

_It can't hurt to check._

He resolved to hit himself on the head in his stupidity if it had been a fluke. The room was absolutely static. The sun glistered outside, reflected off of the droplets slowly sliding down the windowpanes, giving the glass a peculiar blemish of prism hues. 

He sucked in a breath, feeling it chill in the depths of his guts, and reached for the door --

_don't_

The alarms were ringing. They shrieked into his ears, making him stumble in surprise. Over the din he heard the innkeeper and the hobgoblin stumble out of the kitchens, dweomers already enclosing their hands. 

"Wait, miss, what's -- "

"Evil intruders." The innkeeper's face was steely. "They must have set off the wards. Stay here and -- "

He was already out of the door.

The wards glowed dimly in the air, symbols twisting and writhing as they pulsed in tandem. The sounds felt like they reverberated across the entire sky. Roy scanned the lawns desperately, trying to find whatever monster that had been unearthed; he thought of twisting coils of shadow, of blood-red eyes and fangs, of a friend's corpse puppeted around --

The symbols glowed one last time, before subsiding into nothingness.

There was a body on the lawn.

Something like cold dread seized around Roy's limbs. He didn't know why, but his heart pounded hard against his ribcage, making him feel sick like he had been earlier today.

For once, however, the flitters and murmurs in his head were quiet.

He knelt over the green goblin crumpled on the grass. A few characteristics jumped out at him -- a bloodied eyepatch across the right eye, more cuts and scrapes deforming black armour, the tatters of a red cloak knotted and twisted under the person's back -- but what struck out to him the most was the rise and fall of the goblin's chest, the holy symbol resting a little off to the side, giving the slightest indication that he was still alive.


	4. Coincidence

"That's...not a demonic entity."

"Maybe your wards messed up." Roy hadn't accounted for the sheer volume of blood that coated the goblin's back -- the moment he had picked him up, trying not to move him as much as possible, a trickle of red had immediately soaked his sleeves. The red cloak covered up most of the stains well. The goblin had stayed unconscious the entire time. "I think he might've wandered in accidentally. He doesn't look evil."

"Wow." The innkeeper sidled up to his side, her hand still glowing from her dweomer. "He's seriously injured. Even our wards don't do that much damage."

"Can you heal him?"

"Wait here. I'll get my partner over."

She went back inside the inn. Roy followed her, carrying the goblin all the while, careful not to jostle him too much. The goblin was a bit lighter than he had expected, despite the armour. He entered into the building, carefully laying the goblin onto the floor, away from the rugs. 

The goblin...wasn't much. 

Roy didn't know what to add onto that. He sat there, watching the other's chest rise, fall, slowly and subtly, almost like stray air passing through the chest. He waited. Something dark and ugly rose in him, something that felt like hatred, but it might have been his empty stomach speaking. Or his recent death. He couldn't really know. He didn't know a lot of things, he realized, and he hadn't take much time to consider them over. The scent of blood rose off in waves from the sleeves of his shirt, heavy and thick. Whatever injuries the goblin had, they ran deeper than what the visible eye could observe.

The two of them returned. Roy slid back several inches, reluctant to leave immediately. The innkeeper crouched down and began wrapping bandages around some of the more pressing wounds. Immediately the linen was drenched in blood. The hobgoblin knelt down on the other side and pointed at a smear of blood on the stomach, muttering something.

A dweomer of blue crackled up between his fingers, lighting up the wound. 

"That should stop the worst of the bleeding," the hobgoblin said, directing the next cure at the shoulders. "I don't know why he's still unconscious, but that's the most I can do."

"It's probably a head wound." The innkeeper frowned slightly when she reached the shoulder. "It's not just cuts and scrapes here either -- there's burn marks. We'll need to get him cleaned up."

"Don't you have a spell for that?" Roy asked.

"I didn't prepare it." She glanced at Roy, mouth flat. "Can you do me a favor here?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"We'll clean up the mess here. Can you get him into a room and -- " she winced a little when some of the blood seeped onto her robe -- "get the rest of the bandages on him? I don't want the guests to see this." She handed him the linen roll.

"I can do that."

He cautiously picked the goblin back up. The cloak was sopping wet, now that more of the blood had stained it, and watery trails -- the wetness must have been from the moisture -- continued staining Roy's shirt. He'd have to wash it later. Unlike most unconscious people, the goblin was silent all the while, limp as a corpse in his arms.

There were always a few spare rooms on the upper levels. Still, Roy opted for his own room instead -- it was possible travelers could have bunked in the spare ones -- and kicked the door shut. Droplets of blood had begun dripping onto the floor. He would have to clean it up later.

For now, he laid the goblin onto the wooden floor. He did his best to minimize the impact, but something _squished_ wetly when the goblin slid onto his own arm. It looked like the right side had taken the most damage -- even through the sleeves Roy could spot the pulpy, green raw mess of flesh puckered and burnt beyond recognition. Whatever the hobgoblin had done, it seemed to heal him slowly -- already the skin was smoothing over, the blood turning from ripe red to a more diluted brown -- but it was still a horrible mess, with glibs of pus oozing from cracked skin. The armour the goblin wore was lighter than his own plate; Roy had little difficulty removing the uppermost layers. What looked like a fine mist of red rolled off the skin when it was exposed to the air.

Roy bandaged him methodically. His fingers felt clumsy on it, like he wasn't used to the motions, but he remembered -- something. He remembered the motions of a boat -- a ship? -- humming gently underneath his feet, instructing someone how to wrap their own wounds. It was someone with a head of golden hair, and a loud, cheerful voice --

_Roy...!_

The goblin made no motion.

The worst of the arm had been stabilized. Roy sank back on his heels, not sure why he didn't want to take eyes off the prone body. Nothing about the goblin suggested any eminent harm -- in any case, Roy was the one with the greatsword, not him -- but a quiet part of him heeded for caution. He decided to observe, instead. It kept his mind off of other things. The goblin was younger than he'd expected under the blood -- if Roy had to base off of human age, he looked to be a fairly young adult. Like the hobgoblin, tusks protruded from his mouth, which was slightly open. Everything about him implied innate passivity. Roy observed the hands more closely; they weren't callused like his own, but rather smooth-skinned. The goblin likely wasn't a weapon wielder. 

He didn't know what else to do.

The sun shifted under the sky. Half an hour later the innkeeper and her partner showed up, depositing a pile of healing potions at Roy's feet before departing. He could hear the distant sounds of voices and footsteps from the common room. Maybe it was better to let the goblin die and be Raised later, to prevent the worst of the pain from the wounds. Admittedly, that felt dickish to an unspecified degree, and Roy remained in his spot. 

Around three hours after, however, his legs felt sore from where he sat. The goblin wouldn't be going anywhere if he took his eyes off of him for a few minutes. Roy headed to the common room, wondering if the innkeeper might have left him some food to bring back to his room. The room, per usual, had its share of sated, exhausted travelers.

At a small round corner table was a simple meal on an earthernware plate. That must have been for him. Roy ate it on the way back, trying to ignore the over-flakey texture of bread. The hallways seemed dimmer than usual, even though it was still light outside. He chewed his food slowly, not sure why he was so nervous to swallow. Piece by piece he ate.

The door was still closed from what he had remembered.

An odd sense amassed in his gut. The hallway was silent, just like the common room had been earlier, and it contained the same feeling of -- of something that was _off._ He couldn't put his finger on it, and it bothered him more. No torchlights or shadows flickered; nothing visually was wrong, nothing received by the senses, and yet...

He put his ear to the door, listening.

It was silent.

_It had been all screams._

Slowly, so slowly, he opened the door, wincing at its inevitable creak.

He wasn't sure what he expected to see. The room should have been the same as it was, with bed and drawers and window, and the goblin should have been lying unconscious as he had been the entire day. Few things ran with expectation, he'd come to expect.

He was staring at the viridian walls of a study, manned by bookshelves and a desk.

The goblin himself stood before a mirror, with no sign of his injuries in sight.


	5. Progress

Roy finished the bread first. There was no purpose in wasting it, and he chewed it slowly, trying his damn hardest not to simply draw out his sword. The green of the wall bled into his vision, like a pool of ink spreading slowly, and mentally he debated whether to make any sound or not.

The goblin would have to be deaf not to hear him come in. Maybe he should back out. Nothing about the goblin's stance indicated aggression, but the most dangerous people rarely did. A small part of him observed the other carefully, while the other tried not to let the bread stick down his throat. Roy swallowed a bit, letting his hand drift to the door knob. The door had closed. He should go to the innkeeper first. She would have experience with this.

The goblin glanced up from the mirror, a single golden eye staring back at him.

"...I know you."

"Okay, I'm not the person to leap to conclusions -- " Roy used all his willpower to stop his hand from reaching up to the hilt of his sword -- "but I really don't think so. You're not someone I'd easily forget."

"I know you," the goblin repeated, staring down at his fingers. What looked like a faint red aura pulsed at the tips, writhing and unfurling into the air. "I know you from somewhere."

"Repeating it isn't helping."

The red twisted and curled aimlessly around green fingers. When the goblin looked at him again, his gaze rested on -- not on Roy's face, but rather his sword sticking out through his back straps. Roy forced himself to keep his hands still by his sides. He didn't know what was going through the other's head, only that it would be a colossally idiotic idea to try to leave. He had the feeling he wouldn't be able to open the door in time.

"Why do I -- " the goblin trailed off, confusion finally filtering across his face. "I have the urge to kill you, for some reason."

On reflex, Roy's hand flickered up to the hilt. It burned like ice against his palm.

"I rather you don't," he said, as calmly as possible, even as his heartrate accelerated. The red seeped into the air, just like the blood from before -- _where did all his wounds go?_ \-- and it felt like the room was constructed from wires. One wrong step, and he'd plummet.

The goblin frowned. "I don't see why I have to follow it through, though."

Roy counted the seconds in his head. The rhythm grounded him; it kept him steady. _One -- two --_

His fingers tightened on the hilt -- _three --_

The goblin sighed, and the red aura vanished from his hands. The air relaxed, as if it was also releasing a breath. Roy's heart still hammered against his ribs, his eyes tracing the frame for any sign of movement. 

"Sorry about that." The goblin's voice was calmer now, if still the same flat monotone he had possessed the moment he had spoken. "I don't think I would've done it, if it makes you feel better."

"Yeah, I'll be sleeping peacefully with that reassurance." It was Roy's turn to frown. "How...how did you get healed?"

"What?"

"Healed." Roy let his fingers loosen from the hilt, his other hand gesturing over his torso. "When I brought you in, you were covered all over in blood, and -- "

"Blood?"

Roy opened his mouth to point out the droplets on the carpet -- and abruptly closed it as he took a second glance. There was no hint of blood or any other fluid on what had been solid wood. _His_ room, he thought a bit ruefully, looking at the new hue of wallpaper.

"How did you change the room?"

"...what?"

Maybe Roy was seeing things. He rubbed at an eye, noting the goblin's miniscule flinch as he raised his other arm, but - the walls were still green. A calm, steady shade, like the fronds of a fern, or the belt wrapped around his waist. 

"The colour," he began, gesturing to the wallpaper. The words felt thick and slow on his tongue. "You changed the room. I carried you in here, and you were bleeding all over."

The goblin kept staring at him. 

"...don't look at me like that," Roy concluded, a tad bit defensively. He resisted the childish urge to cross his arms. "That's why I'm asking you. I don't have any of the answers."

"I think if I was injured that heavily, I'd be somewhat aware of it."

"Look," Roy snapped, gesturing sharply at his own sleeves. Most of the blood had dried, but brown streaks still smeared down to the fringes. "This was _your_ blood, okay? You looked like a raw corpse on the grounds. If we hadn't got to you on time, you might've died right there."

"So what happened to my wounds, then?" The goblin glanced at his own body, a frown tugging at his mouth. Roy noticed that the cloak - while less bloodier - was still damp in some places, the ragged edges twisted into clumps. 

Roy submitted to his urge, crossing his arms tightly. "Are you actually a spellcaster?" It would explain a lot of questions, for one; he remembered Vaarsuvius completely destroying a set of cabinets with the ease of one flicking a fly off their shoulder. Magic was volatile. It was volatile, untamed, and even V couldn't always hold it under control --

_Vaarsuvius._

A sudden, dizzying sensation rocked Roy at his feet. The goblin must have said something -- either in alarm or amusement, he couldn't tell -- even as he _felt_ his mind reflexively clench around the name, like an iron grip on a vase of glass. The name had came all at once, sudden as the storm outside had been, and -- and -- his senses tried to hold onto it, even as his brain tried to expel it. _V --_ A rush of feelings threatened to drown him, and he thought he could hear the long, distant call of a rattle, like someone choking on their last breaths.

The pain lifted, all at once, as softly and lightly as silk.

Roy blinked, tasting something coppery in his mouth. Slowly, the room swarmed back into its silhouettes, the shadows retreating back to their corners.

"...and I don't think you heard a single word I said. No, really," the goblin continued, even as Roy opened his mouth to protest, "I thought you'd break down there for a moment. You looked like you were going to pass out."

Roy rubbed a hand at his temple, trying to draw out the headache.

"A spellcaster does explain it," the goblin mused quietly, watching Roy shudder slightly without much comment. "But I have the feeling you already knew."

"No," Roy answered automatically, watching the slight tinge of red play around the other's fingers again. It was barely there; he wasn't even sure if the goblin was aware of what he was doing. It was the equivalent of someone rolling a toothpick around in their hand. "I didn't."

He didn't know what else to say. He should leave, leave before something raw and terrible happened. His skin buzzed with discomfort. It had started ever since he entered the room -- no, even before that. When he had found the goblin on the premises. The redness of the cloak tugged at something, like a looming portent, and the goblin had somehow said he _recognised_ him. 

"I need a name," he said.

The goblin raised an eyebrow.

"Something to at least call you by," he amended. He wondered why he had never asked for the name of the innkeeper or her companion. It just never occured to him. "I'm--I'm not exactly sure of my name, but 'Roy' is fine."

If he hadn't been exercised in caution, he wouldn't have noticed it -- but it was there. The green fingers had twitched, ever so slightly, like they had been jolted with a low electric current.

"I don't know mine's," the goblin finally said, the frown deepening. He tugged at the edge of his cloak, and Roy could imagine him observing the smear of blood and moisture on the fabric, dripping slightly down skin. "I don't even remember what I look like."

"You said you knew me from somewhere."

"I don't recognise your name. You're not an easy person to forget."

Roy chose to take that as an aggressively neutral comment. "And you don't remember where you came from, I'm guessing."

"I don't think I do." The goblin's voice hardened fractionally, even as he released his cape back to its natural shape. His eye met Roy's again, utterly unreadable with the eyepatch. The tension in the air had slowly returned, like a pressure building in the walls, and all Roy wanted to do was leave. Leave, and forget about a goblin that made his skin prickle, one whose blood he had seen soaking his own clothes. 

"Redcloak."

Roy felt his eyebrows rise. "... _what?_ "

"Redcloak," the goblin repeated. "That was my name."

And maybe Roy had been posed for -- for _something,_ apparently, since that was the only way to explain why his body was on edge, but the single word stirred nothing. No memories, no emotions -- just a blank slate in his head, one wiped stark and clear like a deadened tundra. He didn't want to confront this. He wanted to have his room back, stay around the inn, and try to let his mind simply relax. He wanted his dreams empty.

He didn't want this.

Roy grabbed onto Redcloak's arm, ignoring the snarl of protest. "Yeah, I'm not going to try to figure this out. I'm taking you to the innkeeper. Maybe she'll actually know -- "

The door swung open from his touch.

He wouldn't ever know what he was about to say, not when his boot stepped onto -- not the inn's hallway, but into open air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Okay. 5 months.
> 
> I have no clue where to start...it's just, sometimes it's so hard to get out ideas and put them into words, y'know? And then the comic's throwing all these big curveballs and my theories get uprooted like trees. At the same time, there's so much I want to explore in the OOTS verse, both in this story and the other 2 fics.
> 
> So...future updates should at least DEF be more frequent than a whole 5-month gap. Hopefully the new year will be smoother in sailing. Sorry about all that :(


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